It wasn't his fault (probably)
by InuVampireChan
Summary: All he did was pick up a Bow and Arrow, that's it. That's all he did.


Notes:

I just wanted to give something a try and I kinda like the idea of Clint Barton/Stiles. Also Steve Rogers/Stiles so that might come in a different one-shot if I try it too.

* * *

Stiles wouldn't _actively_ say he was _kicked_ out of the pack, but he would readily admit that Scott made it quite clear that if Stiles couldn't _abide_ by his _pack laws_ that Stiles couldn't stay. Outwardly admitting he didn't _trust_ or _like_ Theo, the entire thing with Donovan? Those were clearly things that went against Scott's _pack laws—_ because _Stiles_ was the problem. He didn't trust anyone (which – newsflash Scott – was a load of crap considering all the people Stiles spoke up for, including _Allison_ ). Donovan – despite the threat towards Stiles and his Dad – was clearly a Stiles problem _despite it being_ self-defense.

But Scott, his best friend _brother from another mother_ , had taken _Theo's word_ above his. A man they hadn't seen since _primary school_ and was _clearly more evil and even Peter Hale!_

He never thought he would long for a time before Scott became Alpha, for _Derek Fucking Hale_ , but he did. He longed for that man, that _Alpha_ , and he wanted him to come back and fix _all this bullshit_ but—that wasn't going to happen, Derek wouldn't return, and Stiles just couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the pain, take the heartache, take Scott picking _that monster_ over him that was in the end going to get not only _everyone else killed_ but himself and his _Dad_. The only family that Stiles had _left_.

So he asked. He _asked his Dad_ if they could _move_ , if Stiles could take the early acceptance letter and attend college in New York. Beacon Hills High could send the college his diploma, he could give up his Valedictorian spot to Lydia who would do a much better speech than him ( _she was his Queen still_ ) and his Dad could take a less stressful job.

Irony, right there, that a _large police department_ in a _city_ would be less stressful than the things they went through here in a small _supposedly quiet_ town. But he was just sure of that, sure that it would take the stress off of his fathers back if he wasn't the one who had to look over his shoulder every second, second guessing if a case was supernatural or not, _wondering_ if his son would come back in one pieces that night. Because no doubt, just as he worried over the job of Sheriff and the police department, his father worried over him constantly.

The Sheriff sold the house quietly, so that none of the pack would come breaking his door down to demand what happened, and Stiles left his phone off for a good _month_ after they had already left. He used the time to build back up his relationship with his father, to apartment hunt in the new big city. They wanted somewhere quiet, not to many neighbors to worry about. They just wanted something _small_ because Stiles was going to room at the college anyway and come back on weekends.

So, his father eventually picked something close to the new station that offered him and job and Stiles new life easily began.

Of course, Stiles being _Stiles_ meant he started that new life off with a _bang_ rather than just quietly placing himself in the confines of New York. He spent that month with his father and then not even a few weeks after that decided to try and hack into _S.H.I.E.L.D_ to see what they knew on _Werewolves_. Ironically that was their _least guarded_ piece of information (or had to be if even _he_ could get in there without even breaking a sweat) and they knew next to nothing. Actually, nothing was a generous term what they had was _legends_ and _myths_ and all _fake_ it might have even been enough to make him _laugh_.

For a company (national security division?) that prided themselves on knowing what was _unknown_ they didn't even have basic knowledge of the things outside of their inhumans. Which, he wondered idly, would inhumans count as supernaturals? Would _werewolves_ be labeled as _inhumans_?

He pondered this, as he shut his computer down, and not even _ten minutes_ in his thoughts he found a bag over his head and was being shot with something in his neck. They were lucky they put the bag on first, if he had saw the needle he probably would have vomited on them.

He snarked his way through their interrogation, told _half-truths_ as he was accustomed to with _wolves_ and left the room in a slight daze with a _brand new outfit_ and _job_. Admittedly, he was the lowest ranking _agent_ in S.H.I.E.L.D _but he still got in_.

He shouldn't be as amazed, he didn't want back in this supernatural mess, but honestly—he wasn't sure he could do without it either. It filled something in him that he couldn't quite explain, a thrill of some sorts that rested in his chest with a bubbling feeling. He didn't focus on it any longer than necessary he wasn't sure he wanted to know what that feeling was.

So Stiles did what Stiles did _best_ , he ignored the new problem in hopes that it would go away.

He didn't tell his Dad about his new job, figured it would come out eventually but he didn't want to risk S.H.I.E.L.D bashing his head in or using him as _bait_ in a new attack or _something_ for spilling state secrets (if that was what this even was anyway). He said he was working at the college, a way to learn to get around the new place before he went. His Dad bought it, or he bought it because he didn't want to press Stiles when he thought Stiles was still _healing_.

The angry target practice full of bullet holes at S.H.I.E.L.D HQ would confirm the mans assumption. At least he was a pretty damn good shot, best of the agents in his division anyway (what he got for being the son of a _cop_ ).

The first time he got to actually do his _job_ was ironically when an Alpha went _bat shit crazy_ in New York. It was like living his first nightmare in Beacon Hill's all over again, the Alpha was that _half-wolf half-man_ thing that Peter Hale had become when he lost his _fucking mind_. Funny enough, this time, taking the Peter-clone out wasn't his _problem_ , it was a S.H.I.E.L.D problem and therefore an _Avenger_ problem—but it wasn't a _Stiles_ _problem_.

His job description was pretty clean cut; protect the civilians. He was to get the _humans_ out of the way, clear out the streets for the Avengers, make sure no one got _hurt_. But, he was also to stay out of the _Avengers_ way, avoid getting into the _fight_ , that was for people who make a hell of a lot fucking more money than him. He didn't even have a _weapon_ on him.

So he did his job, he herded the sheep out of the way, but the problem? The problem was _these people_ didn't know what they were dealing with or even how to deal _with it_. The Werewolf was to quick for Iron Man's blasters or Captain Americas shield, he matched the Hulk's strength for each punch and Black Widow _despite being fast enough to hit him_ was no match for a Werewolves healing and iron like skin. Hawkeye got a few good hits in but—unless those arrows were suddenly laced with Wolfsbane he stood no chance of taking the Werewolf down.

Scott and him knew exactly how hard it was to take a raging Werewolf down, especially a newly done _crazed Alpha_. They had the power of a regular Werewolf but _jacked up_ a hundred times over. They needed something better or this was never going to end, but what honestly was he supposed to do? He had noway of directly contacting them and Fury was no doubt _not_ going to listen to him. Finding Coulson was going to be like looking for a needle in a _hay stack_. Besides, in times like _this?_ They were probably up in the air on the helicarrier.

Meaning no go, out of reach, _do not enter_.

He was leaning toward the tempting idea of going to the nearest Apothecary (which was ironically a store or two down from him) and digging around for wolfsbane when _fucking Clint Barton_ smashed down into the ground beside him. The man had taken a few good hits, bleeding in several places and clearly had either a broken arm or a dislocated shoulder – maybe even both – given the way his arm was bent. The mans arrows and bow had scattered to Stiles feet and when Stiles looked up he saw a pair of raging red eyes now focused on _him_.

He only shot a bow and arrow _once_ and he'd nearly shot _Allison_ with it on accident, he absolutely could not wield the damn thing but if he didn't _act_ he was going to die and dying? After how hard he fought to _get here?_ Not an _**option**_.

But the bow and arrow was the only weapon _near him_.

Plan, plan, plan! He needed a plan _now_. "Think Stiles!"

Deaton said he had a spark, Deaton said all he needed was mountain ash and to _believe_. He hadn't tried it like this but it was all he had to _count on_ and both him and Hawkeye would _die_ if he didn't try something. So, scrambling in a flail of limbs, he grabbed the mans bow and a single arrow and ran across the street to the store. He heard the Alpha's roar, a shiver running down his spin as _memories_ flooded his mind but Stiles pushed them aside easily to focus on the task at hand.

Finding Wolfsbane wasn't hard at all, a piece of twine to connect it to the arrow was even easier, Mountain Ash however didn't appear to be a common carrying component of the store so he had to work with the small bit he kept on him as a precaution.

Stiles rushed back to Hawkeye's side, the man still out of it and bleeding profusely. Hulk had managed to slow the Alpha down but it was quite clear the Banner was tiring out. Huh, a match for even the _Great Hulk_ , that thought was actually kinda terrifying.

With a shake of his head he banished those curious over analytical thoughts and strapped the Wolfsbane flower to the head of the arrow. Finding a way to get the mountain ash onto it was a lot harder but Stiles soon found that Hawkeye's arrows weren't exactly your _typical brand_. The head actually unscrewed from the base, probably for easy switch if he needed something, say, _deadlier_ but it allowed him to seal a bit of mountain ash into the _hole_ and still get the arrow head back on enough to stay on. He wasn't worried about balance anyway, the whole point of the mountain ash was to _guide_ the arrow.

If he believed hard enough that it'll fly to his target—it should.

 _If Deaton was right_.

He never trusted Deaton but that didn't mean the man was a liar. He just was to fond of _keeping the balance_ for Stiles liking even if it meant others got hurt in the process.

Stiles knelt on the ground, one knee pressed into the hard concrete and the other leg bent to to keep him in a good position. As Hulk was tossed aside, a thought he'd let into his mind later about Werewolf strength VS the Hulk, Stiles placed the end of the arrow against the bow string and pulled it back. Which was where he ran into the problem, he forgot to account for the fact bow strings were based on a persons strength and if he couldn't pull it taunt enough the arrow wouldn't get enough speed to actually _move_.

And Clint Barton? A _hell of a lot stronger_ than freaking _Stiles Stilinski_.

Maybe the gods had mercy on him today or something because as the Alpha started toward him the archer took that moment to come back to the world of the living and Stiles was _really struggling_ to pull the damn arrow back far enough. His heart was beating against his rib cage enough to give him a panic attack probably, he didn't even notice the way Hawkeye took in his surroundings or the critical way the mans eyes focused in on him.

Despite the mans _clear injuries_ that should _be life threatening_ , he scooted over toward Stiles and moved up behind him. Being taller than him Hawkeye didn't need to sit up much, which his injuries were probably thankful for, and he placed his hand over Stiles that was holding the string.

Being so close Stiles could hear the other Avengers through his ear com, screaming and asking if he was alright and _to move_ which Hawkeye clearly ignored. He leaned a bit closer to Stiles and the boy could _feel_ the others breath against his ear when he spoke, "you need to relax, take a breath." Despite how leveled his voice was, _mission mindset_ Stiles head supplied, he could feel how taunt the others body was from stress.

Hawkeye didn't know what he was doing but he also knew if Stiles _missed_ they'd all be dead. That, though not complete trust, was _enough belief_ that Stiles was sure he would not miss.

He wouldn't let himself.

Hawkeye adjusted the bow a bit, probably to counter balance the added weight of the arrow. The Avenger didn't question what Stiles did to his arrow, or even _why,_ just adjusted it enough and pulled Stiles arm back the rest of the way. His forearm protested it, his muscles screaming at the effort, but Stiles ignored it all to push in one clear thought through his mind.

Believe.

The arrow, the _mountain ash_ , would _**hit the Alpha**_.

Then Hawkeye let go, moving his hand instead to grab Stiles wrist to keep his arm from following the arrow which ripped from his lose fingers to fly through the air. He sagged back against the Avenger, letting the man pull him up to his feet as he just kept _repeating_ in his _head_ that the _arrow would hit_.

He didn't register the other Avengers falling in around them, Black Widow trying to drag Hawkeye off the battle field for medical attention. He watched _his arrow_ as it finally reached the Alpha still raging toward them and the arrow _sink itself_ into their _chest_.

Wolfsbane he now learned, when embedded directly into an Alpha's chest _, their heart_ , skipped all the other steps. Before Derek had told him that it caused their veins to turn black with poison and when it reached their heart that was _game over_. When you went straight for the heart instead? That was _instant game over_.

He also learned that with the Wolfsbane in them, like Derek had done to Laura to preserve her in her Wolf Form, they didn't shift back in death. The Alpha was dead, stuck as a wolfman _thing_ with the wolfsbane poisoning their body even in death—and the Avengers were looking at him with something akin to _impressed._

 _His Dad was going to be so **mad** when he saw the news_. If he hadn't already, anyway.

"That was a pretty damn good shot kid."

Hawkeye smacked him on the shoulder and Stiles flinched, edging a bit away from the injured man. "You helped I can't say it was specifically me." Was it even the mountain ash or was it Hawkeye's steady aim? Though, steady wasn't exactly a word he would connect with a man who looked ready to be on death's door honestly. "You should get medical help-"

Hawkeye waved him off but apparently Black Widow wasn't having any of that because she grabbed his good arm and dragged him, _almost literally,_ toward where a S.H.I.E.L.D first aid van was rolling up with all the others.

He learned, quickly after that— _seconds actually_ , that getting away was impossible too because _Iron Man_ waltzed right up to him and dropped his _metal arm_ onto his shoulder as some form of _pat_ that nearly knocked him to the ground had Captain America not grabbed his elbow on the other side. The man shot Iron Man a dark look before pinning Stiles a smile that could rival Scott McCall's _I'm a puppy dog be my friend_ one.

"That was impressive, I've never seen someone other than Hawkeye shoot his arrows-"

Captain America was interrupted by Iron Man twisting Stiles around to look up at him. "Hi, Iron Man, Tony Stark but you probably know that _what did you do_ there? Because that? That wasn't normal. Clint shot that guy, man, beast thing full of like _a hundred arrows_ and he was still walking but you? You pick it up and shoot one? Yeah that isn't a thing that should happen so again-"

Ah, he rambled about as much as Stiles did. They should never hold a conversation together with other people around. Thankfully though he was cut off by Agent Coulson making his way over toward the three of them. "Stark, let the boy go and take the suit off before you bruise one of our Agents." Coulson leveled him with a blank stare but _something_ in that apparently had _Tony Stark_ dropping with a pout and stepping away. He vaguely heard the man mutter something about _babysitters_ and by the twitch of Captain America's lips he was right. "Agent Stilinski, correct?" Stiles slid his gaze back over to Agent Coulson and gave a single nod of his head.

"I didn't do anything, really. Nothing that impressive anyway. Iron Man—Mr. Stark—?"

"TONY." Came the shout off to the side from Iron Man _himself_ as he was removing his suit into some bracelet thing (he really wanted to know how that worked) and the medical crew checked him over.

" _Tony_ ," apparently his title was a touchy thing, "makes it sound like it was some _amazing power thing_ but honestly Hawkeye was guiding the bow the entire time." He waved toward said man who was shooting him this _amused grin_ like he knew something no one else did. Considering it was his bow and arrow he probably did.

"You're not even level one clearance, you're bottom of the rung _clean up crew_ , the file says even your hack in attempt was pathetic. You also happened to hack the one thing we don't put under heavy lock and key." His words, typically, would probably be seen as an insult but Stiles saw the _calculating look_ underneath it all. He also only saw it because he knew he had _that look_ in his own eyes when gazing at something that was so obviously suspicious— _like Theo_.

He banished those thoughts again.

"Hawkeye just landed next to me, I picked the bow and arrow up and got some poisonous plant from the store, can't even tell you what, and shot the arrow."

He was lying and he knew it was because he wanted to protect the Werewolves of the world, protect _Scott and those he considered friends before._ If S.H.I.E.L.D knew about Werewolves they would use them for everything they were worth. They would be _blacklisted_ forever and Scott, Jackson, Isaac, _Derek—_ none of them would ever be safe again.

So even if he had to lie to every single government agency in the _world_ , he would try to protect his friends. As far as he knew if they took the Werewolf back to S.H.I.E.L.D they wouldn't find anything in it's DNA that connected them to the supernatural. Derek never mentioned anything about that and Scott had been to the hospital before. The biggest problem was the supernatural healing and that Alpha? Dead. No healing there.

So he would _lie_ and do what he could to hide the rest.

A hand landed down on his shoulder and Stiles briefly glanced up at the Archer it belonged to who was still smiling but his eyes this time were gazing defiantly at Agent Coulson, as if _daring him_ to continue arguing. "Cut him some slack Coulson, the kids right, I was guiding him most the time it was probably luck. Whatever plant he picked the thing must have been allergic to. Now, did anyone find Banner? I think we should all go back to the tower, including Stilinski here, and have some Pizza!"

Tony immediately perked up at that, the suit gone now and tossing a pair of pants at Bruce Banner who was finally being lead back by Black Widow. "Pizza? JARVIS you hear? Order the usual and—you, Agent boy, kid, what do you like on your Pizza?"

Stiles blinked and Clint grabbed the back of his neck and nudged him toward the other Avengers. Was this his life now? All he did was pick up a bow and arrow. That—was all he did. Then again, all him and Scott had done was walk into the woods.

Fuck. He was _supernatural catnip_.

"Ah—um—I'm Stiles, Stiles Stilinski, I like most things on Pizza but not anchovies."

And there he got a series of introductions, something about Thor having banned fish on Pizza, a wide grin from Clint Barton along with that _same look_ that read _I know something—_ when the other question was finally asked by Tony.

"What the fuck is a Stiles?"

And Stiles? _**He grinned.**_


End file.
